Summary: Anwyn is the sixteen year old moranrch of the small country of Hadran. With her mothers assassination she is forced to protect her country against the invading Calscuri army.

Disclaimer: Are you kidding? I totally own this!

Authors Note: A story i wrote for school. I wanted to post it and so placed it under a Tamir Triad and Cry of The Icemark crossover as they were the two books that gave me the inspiration for thsi story. I am not rewritting this and there will not be more. Sorry. And i want reviews before i finish this story. please? Cake for reviewers.

CHAPTER FOUR

The sun shone down brightly on the moving fryd. The sky was clear and the wheel plates of the wagons and the shields of the housecarles gleamed with a bronze sheen as they moved along the path. The warriors marched five abreast and sang loud, bawdy songs to lighten the mood and boost morale, their voices filling the air with a happily moving dance of sound.

Lothian rode at Anwyn's side as she led the generals and the cavalry along the path. His light brown hair fell softly in his eyes, the much longer warrior braids hanging down to his shoulders. The sun shone on his hair as it danced in the breeze, jumping one way before turning gracefully to another. His dark eyes sparkled with ill concealed humour and Anwyn felt her heart give a sudden lurch as he turned and smiled at her. She smiled thinly back and pushed her horse forward so no one could see the faint, but steady, warm reddening of her cheeks. You're so stupid! She told herself. Getting sick NOW. Chastising. Blushing.

They had marched for several hours before the scouts reported back. In front of them were two Calscuri companies consisting of one thousand men each. They had set up camp and were waiting for the fryd.

Anwyn took control of the Fryd, calling them all to the top of the hill, arranging them so the wagons had their backs and all men were on foot. "Archers to the rear!" she called as the housecarles ran to obey.

Verni, the captain of the guard, appeared beside her, his salt and pepper beard still in the breeze. "Horses behind the wagons!" he called "Tighten ranks. Archers behind!"

The men formed up, ten abreast atop the hill. Their small army seemed even smaller as the main bulk was hidden behind the hill. The novice warriors were kept to the rear, the seasoned warriors positioned in front, a manoeuvre implemented in order to increase the survival rate of the entire Fryd.

Anwyn stood in the front line with Lothian and Verni. As she scanned the faces of the warriors behind her she spotted several she knew. Her mother's general, Atlanta, was there, and so was Lutha, lord of the southern marshes. A few rows behind her she saw the face of a warrior who looked even younger than her. He caught her eye and smiled bravely, his head tilting slightly to show his respect. Anwyn nodded in acknowledgement. The road ahead of them descended steeply and tall trees pressed tightly onto the road, making flanking manoeuvres impossible. It wasn't long before they heard the drums of the Calscuri.

The Calscuri came to the root of the hill, their banners contorting in the breeze, twisting mercilessly around themselves, suffocating and dangerous. Their commander stayed at the back of his force, surveying the scene before him with clear, calculating eyes. "Brace up!" he yelled, his voice booming and echoing among the tight trees in the small space. There was a short pause before, having manipulated his force into the desired position, the commander of the Calscuri roared "CHARGE!"

Anwyn tightened her grip on her spear and saw Lothian do the same. As the Calscuri advanced the fryd stood strong. The first wave almost broke through the Hadrian line, but they held firm as Anwyn called the line to life, renewing the morale of the front line warriors.

Calscuri bodies fell to both blade and blood drenched spear as the Fryd began to quicken their pace, their voices rising into the air, filling it with songs and chants. Their voices rose higher, louder than the clashes of steel and bronze, the slicing of skin and leather, the skewering of enemy bodies and the desperate calls of the Calscuri commander as he called his line ever forward, forcing them over the heavy and cold bodies of their fallen comrades.

Anwyn fought hard, her breath flying through her body, both warming and chilling as fog flew from her mouth. Her voice rose in the wind as she joined her comrade's chant. "Blood and Fire! Blood and Fire!" Their voices showed no signs of exhaustion as they continuously hacked away at the advancing wall of Calscuri soldiers. Her warriors were bloody; their armour shined the dull red colour of fresh and dry blood, with only pockets of the steel glinting through. Their faces were sprayed with blood, and the ends of their warrior braids hung heavy with it. Continuously they stopped the oncoming onslaught until finally, the entire Calscuri force lay soaked in puddles of their own blood.

A collective sigh rose from the housecarles as relief dawned on their faces. Against two hundred of the Calscuri they had only lost one. Old Fievel, a sixty year old war veteran, had been killed by a well aimed blow to the throat.

A hand clasped Anwyn's shoulder, a strong, tanned, muscular hand and she looked up blushing faintly into the eyes of her squire Lothian. "Made it through" he said playfully. His eyes were sad, peering into the depths of her soul. Old Fievel rested heavily on his mind. He beamed at her a moment later and the small glimpse of pain she had seen vanished, as if it never was. The slow procession began shortly after, the fryd stopping only long enough to clean their blades. The housecarles sang a dreary funeral march as they made their way to the keep, the sky seeming to agree in their lament sending down showers of rain.